


Lyrical

by pyladesdrawing



Series: Lyrical [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, all the brotps, it will be happy soon, so many brotps though, this was supposed to be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyladesdrawing/pseuds/pyladesdrawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose...but why would you? That is entirely unsanitary.</p>
<p>OR: The ridiculously long series that started off as an E/R playlist and has morphed into something that I can't control. </p>
<p>I'm bad at summaries?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're both impossible, to love or leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all very exciting and very scary because I've been meaning to do this for a while and I've been terrified.
> 
> the fact that you've read this far is amazing and I love you already xx

_"You make my teeth clench and my hands shake. Do you ever see what you do to me? You're wearing me out, just wearing me out. But I'm wearing you down."_

The real problem is how perfect it's been. They hardly ever fight anymore, and whenever they do a smile or a kiss or the way those satin sheets (Enjolras never does anything halfway- even the bed is perfect) feel underneath them wipes their minds of any memory of an argument to the point where the very _idea_ of fighting is a complete and utter sin.

There are, of course, those 'rare' occasions when Enjolras is overtired and needs to meet a deadline (or two, or three), when Grantaire is worried sick because he hasn't seen his boyfriend breathe let alone eat in well over two days (and isn't at all comforted when Enjolras insists he has, but can't remember his last meal- the guy can remember 800 year old treatises but can't remember the grilled cheese he picked at for forty minutes while ranting about the latest governmental atrocity), when both of them are incredibly tense because they've hardly looked at each other (let alone kissed, or touched or just taken each other in like they used to, when looking at each other was a sensible way to pass time). Those times end in earth shattering screaming matches where no body wins and everybody hurts.

This time, it's Bahorel who starts it, albeit unintentionally. He knows how things get between New York City's begrudgingly best barista and the future President of the United States and knows that removing the catalyst (the not-so-fond but true nickname for a sick with worry Grantaire) usually helps things.

_Usually._

It's eight forty five on a Friday, close to the end of term. Summer is just around the corner, Grantaire and Enjolras have been together for almost six months and it's been good recently. So good that Courfeyrac starts a pool for when the next fight will happen and Combeferre even puts money in because the air between the two is getting thicker and thicker and the only thing that's saving them is the completely saccharine attitude that they share. It's like they're slowly riding (slowly teetering, really) on the edge of 'really fantastic' and 'utter shit.' Jehan calls it the Molasses Phase because he has a feeling it will be cyclical and you're never really sure when the whole thing is going to tip over and fall to hell.

While Enjolras is finishing the second of three papers for one of his many history classes (he's already a law major which should be enough but he has a sweet spot for history the same way Grantaire has a sweet spot for Flight of the Conchords), Grantaire is getting set to leave for a three week artists' convention and exhibit in San Francisco with some of the other art majors. (two of his paintings and four of his photos will be part of a wildly publicized showing and auction and it's got him freaking out a little).

(a lot).

This upcoming trip is problem number two.

It's not like he's particularly happy to get away from his boyfriend, he's not happy at all, but this is a big deal for him. His art and his name will be on the market and Enjolras hasn't. Even. Said. Anything.

When Queenie (his positively lovely professor and close friend, not to mention head of the art department) told him about it, Grantaire all but sprinted home and spluttered it out while gasping for breath. (he doesn't get excited by things in his own life often. never, actually. but there's something about this opportunity that makes his head spin). True to form, Enjolras smiled dazzlingly (every smile dazzles Grantaire) and congratulated him and then the topic got pushed under the rug. Grantaire talks about it more and more as the exhibit draws nearer, but Enjolras remains silent about the whole thing, giving only a distracted nod here or a cheerfully lazy grin there. (he's busy too, with protest planning and being a part time activist and part time aide for Ms. Lamarque, a former deputy associate counselor for the White House and New York State Senatorial Candidate). In the back of Grantaire's mind, a little voice pipes up and says 'You support his protests and his causes even if you don't really care- why isn't he showing you any support?'

Grantaire ignores the little voice though, and never _ever_ voices these concerns. He's lucky and he knows it. Treading carefully is something he's very good at. He wants this to last.

It's eight forty five on a friday, the night before Grantaire leaves for San Francisco. Coincidentally, it's also the night of his 'going away' party.  
He's packed bags of clothes (and by clothes he means anything 'Jehan' approved- "You're going to be at _parties_ , Grantaire. Parties and showings and actions, oh my. You need more than a few pairs of basketball shorts, some torn jeans, and a handful of flannel shirts."), and all five of his sketchbooks along with paints and brushes and his camera because he needs a few more shots for his 'city streets' portfolio (when in Rome, right?). This is when Bahorel texts him.

 **bagel:** _yo u still comin tonite_  
 **R:** _of course. just finished packing. cherie is finishing essay #2 nd we will be there shortly_  
 **bagel:** _hurry the drinks r flowing here no party w/o u xoxoxoxoxox_

Attached is a picture of all of their friends, laughing and holding up various alcoholic beverages. In response, Grantaire texts back a highly amusing picture of him flipping them off with an absolutely loving smile.

"Bahorel says the drinks are already flowing, come on and get dressed," Grantaire smiles from the doorway. Enjolras' back is facing him but by the furious clicking sounds and the lack of response, he knows there's still an essay being cranked out. He's been at it for five hours now, and under normal circumstances Grantaire would leave his boyfriend alone until it's safe to make contact but he doesn't want them to be late.

"Can't. You go on," Enjolras mumbles without looking up.

The dark haired man rolls his eyes with a playful huff and walks over, squeezing his boyfriend's shoulders. "Take a break. Loosen up. A drink will help you relax and I'll make sure you'll be well enough to come home and work straight through 'till morning." He pushes the blond curls he loves so much out of the way to press a kiss to the skin of Enjolras' temple. "Come on, darling."

Grantaire means well and he knows this, but the contact only serves to agitate Enjolras who sharply pulls away, glaring. (the sight always makes Grantaire's stomach churn with a mixture of seriousness and attraction. everything about him is fierce and fiery and wonderful). "Stop it. I'm working, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop distracting me. You don't need me to get drunk with our friends, I've never stopped you before."

Grantaire raises his arms defensively, trying to understand where the sudden hostility is coming from. "What is that for?" (in truth, it's a combination of things. Ms. Lamarque has him working very hard and he loves it, he really does, but he's let school work get pushed to the back burner, a very un-Enjolras thing to do, and he's playing catch up. he's got a protest to organize and these stupid essays to do and he's barely slept at all this week because every moment he isn't writing or working or running around he's trying to spend awake with his boyfriend before he leaves. of course, Grantaire doesn't know any of this. Enjolras probably doesn't either, really).

"What is what for," Enjolras snarls, "I'm _working_ , you know that. You know how important this is and I can't just 'stop' to get smashed with my alcoholic boyfriend and our enabling friends."

Grantaire shrinks backwards at the harsh comment, but not before reaching forward over and shutting Enjolras' laptop. "Alright, we need to talk."

There's a frustrated sigh that fills the air and the blond is pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself down before he says something he'll regret. (what he's already said hasn't registered already, and for now, his method works). "That wasn't saved. That entire section wasn't saved. I don't want to talk to you right now, Grantaire. Please go away."

"I'm not going anywhere. You need to talk to me."

"Grantaire, I'm trying not to get angry." (too late for that, the dark haired man thinks). "Go away."

"Talk to me."

"I _don't want_ to talk to you," Enjolras shouts, standing quickly. Papers fall off of his lap and onto the floor.

Grantaire glowers, taking note of the dark circles under his boyfriend's eyes. He hasn't slept much and knows he shouldn't engage but it's too late. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem," Enjolras asks, laughing with that sarcastic edge that sickens and frightens Grantaire. "Is you. You're frustrating. You're distracting. You're too much."

"I'm leaving to go half way around the country for almost a month in approximately fifteen hours, forgive me for wanting to spend the night having a good time with my boyfriend."

Enjolras laughs again, and it cuts right through Grantaire. "Oh, that's rich. Getting piss drunk so you miss your flight is now 'spending the night having a good time with your boyfriend.' Give me a break. You know this'll turn into me driving your ass home an having to nurse you back to health, which will mean I can't finish my paper. So no, I don't want to go out. You've already fucked up half of this, I'm not going to let you fuck up everything else."

Grantaire rolls his eyes, trying to remember that this is only the very hungry, very overtired side of Enjolras speaking. But the words cut him too deeply, and his expression falters, betraying (for a moment) how much they hurt. He quickly tries to mask it, scrubs a hand over his face. Fuckfuckfuck.

Enjolras, for his part, may be 'clueless' when it comes to certain things, but he knows Grantaire. Or at least, he likes to think he's one of the few that knows more about him than is normally revealed. So Enjolras sees all of this, sees it the minute the words leave his mouth and hit his boyfriend. His face softens almost immediately, he fumbles for words... for an apology. "Grantaire. I-"

"No. I get it." Grantaire begs him silently to just drop it.

He doesn't.

"Grantaire." Enjolras is walking over to him now, looking positively frightened. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"I said I get it, okay?! Just stop. I'll leave before I make some more mistakes. Have a great night."

Grantaire is stalking off to their (not really their, more his- as in Enjolras'. Grantaire's unofficially moved in but neither of them seem to mind the way things are) bedroom now, roughly pulling suitcases onto his shoulders. Enjolras follows, running a hand through his already unruly curls. "I love you, you know that."

It's Grantaire's turn to snap, all of the insecurities and doubts and the hurt mixing together all at once. "You know what? I don't know that. You always _do_ this, Enjolras. You always cut me down in the worst ways. I mean I just wanted you to come out for my goodbye party, which is apparently too much to ask. So fuck this," he points wildly at nothing in particular, "and fuck you too. I'm done playing the part of 'concerned boyfriend' and getting shit for it. Jehan can drive me to the airport. Bye."

Enjolras can't get another word in edgewise (as if he could even speak with the crushing guilt pressing on him now, seemingly squeezing the air out of his lungs) and Grantaire is out of the apartment and well down the street before he can even think of stopping him.

\--

At the bar, everyone's phones seem to go off at once.

"It's Grantaire," Joly says, looking over Bousset's shoulder with Chetta not far behind. She snakes her arms around the waists of her boys with a small smile, murmuring "What's the hold up?"

"'Can't come after all, not feeling well. R,'" Feuilly reads, looking up at his friends with a confused expression.

In the midst of the ensuing discussion, Jehan's phone rings. Everyone goes silent and he puts the call on speaker.

"Hello?"

"I'm coming over. Can you be there soon?"

"What's happened, dear?"

Laughter erupts on the other end of the line and Jehan has to hold the phone away from him because it's bordering on maniacal and makes the poet nervous.

"It's nothing, dear Prouvaire. It's just Enjolras. I think he's finally had enough of me."

Immediately and unsurprisingly, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are pulling on their jackets. "We'll go. You go to him," Combeferre says out loud, causing Grantaire (who heard all of that) to groan and nearly drop his bags in the street.

"Is nothing sacred anymore? I called you in privacy." He didn't, really. He knows that this group of friends shares a brain, and shares everything. It used to be weird at first, but now it's normal. They're a family and they're thicker than thieves. Next time, however, Grantaire will make the effort to text Jehan and save the aggravation.

"No privacy here," Bahorel (and Feuilly, and Bossuet and Joly and Chetta) say in tandem, proving Grantaire's point.

Jehan shushes them all and turns off the speaker. "I'll be right there, I'll call Eponine too. I think she's still with Marius and Cosette at the Hole in the Wall."

"Don't have them come too," Grantaire says seriously. "I don't want to burden _everyone_ in the tri-state area with this."

Of course, by the time Grantaire's taxi gets to Jehan's place, Eponine has a bottle of wine open and Marius and Cosette have bowls of ice cream in their hands.

\--

Enjolras is just getting his shoes on so he can go out and apologize (grovel, really) to Grantaire when Combeferre and Courfeyrac burst through the door, and promptly smack him on the back of his head upon entering his apartment. (Courfeyrac's the only one who does it actually, but he does it a second time when Combeferre doesn't so it counts in a way). "I was having a pleasant night until we got the call to be relationship counselors for you imbeciles, which by the way, is not in my job description. What have you done now," Courfeyrac gets out (amazingly, all in one breath), and Combeferre does nothing but roll his eyes at the directness. "Enjolras. Just, tell us what happened. Are you okay?" (he doesn't pick sides. that's why he always tags along).

The look of confusion on the blond's face doesn't stay there long, but he refrains from saying anything. Grantaire never liked to bother people with his problems (especially ones regarding his relationship) and if Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew then others must know as well... _Not_ a good sign in the slightest.

Courfeyrac continues, undeterred by his friend's silence. "What happened? Did he say something? Did you?"

Enjolras runs a hand through his hair (a default response when he's feeling tense) and takes a deep breath. "I'm tired," (an understatement, every part of him aches with sleep deprivation). "I haven't eaten in... a few days. I said some stuff I didn't mean." Now he's feeling frustrated again. "He should know by now I don't mean it. I never mean any of it."

"Mean any of what, exactly," Combeferre urges.

"I called him an alcoholic," Enjolras sighs, and repeating the word fills him with a new sense of self loathing and disgust because this triggers the memories of the rest of what he said. "And, other things. Horrible things."

"Alright, sit down. Start from the beginning," Combeferre says, sounding very much like a doctor trying to coax a story out of a patient. He's very good at this sort of thing. At listening, and being there for his friends. Courfeyrac is too, but he jumps in. He's emotional, and tends to take sides quickly. Combeferre always keeps his head, and is a miraculously calming presence for Enjolras already. He does, however, sense it's going to be a long night when Enjolras does start talking.

\--

"He's right, you know," Grantaire hits (half due to the wine and half due to the cry- not crying. he's not crying). "I fuck everything up. I'm wrong for him. I always knew I was and I've been telling myself that from the beginning and I need to learn to listen to my head again."

Jehan 'shh's him and rubs a hand down the cynic's back. He hates seeing a friend upset like this, but he _especially_ hates seeing Grantaire upset, because he so often is even though he rarely shows it. (you see, the thing about Grantaire, and those who have known him long enough understand this- he's one of the strongest men you'll ever meet, with a curious emotional makeup and equally curious and fucked up family life that also make him one of the weakest. he's the type of person that secretly takes everything you ever say to heart, even if he doesn't realize he's doing it).

Grantaire closes his eyes, curling closer to Jehan, thankful that Marius and Cosette and Eponine left an hour ago (something they had to do, he wasn't really listening). 'He loves you,' he tries telling himself. Over and over and over again. 'He loves you, and won't ever mean anything he says in anger.'

It's not the first time he goes to sleep lying to himself, and it won't be the last.

\--

They ride to the airport in silence. For once, the poet with the words like flowers, with the capacity to bring light even to the darkest of men- remains at a loss. Grantiare, still feeling particularly hurt, overtired, and melodramatic, is saying a prayer to the gods of aviation (do they even exist?) that his plane explodes mid-flight or crashes into the ocean. 'Enjolras would actually have a legitimate reason to say I fuck everything up, then,' he thinks sadly, knowing how pathetic he is for even thinking like this. They've had fights like this before, sure. They've never had a fight like _this one_ though, where one of them is leaving for San Francisco for almost a month, without a goodbye. He tries not to dwell on it.

Jehan walks him inside, waits for him at the gate, and kisses him repeatedly on the face before Grantaire has to board. A part of him feels a twinge of regret that he and the little ginger poet had set such strict 'no relationship' boundaries because, maybe, just maybe, having a boyfriend who loves to outwardly show affection, who hates to fight, would make the parting easier. "You need to call him," Jehan says, sighing when Grantaire rolls his eyes. "Or at least be willing to pick up the phone when he calls you. I talked to Courfeyrac last night," he pauses to blush pink when he sees Grantaire's raised eyebrow. "Quiet, you. I talked to Courfeyrac last night, and he says Enjolras is really torn up by all of this. You know him, how he gets. You'll fight and hate each other for a little while and something will always bring you back."

Grantaire leans down to kiss Jehan's cheek, closing his eyes and pretending that Enjolras stood next to him. "I'll text you when I land."

And as he reaches his destination without a hitch, he remembers why he doesn't rely on prayer.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is then end of chapter one! I promise I'll fix things. they're just both stubborn babies and sometimes they need a little time to cool off. there will be more of the others in the next chapter, and yes jehan and courf are my babs I had to throw that in there even if the point of this chapter was to be enjolras and grantaire centric.
> 
> EDIT: the title comes from the song "Impossible" by Anberlin which is perfect and lovely and probably one of the best E/R songs there are, seriously go listen.
> 
> feedback is more than appreciated!


	2. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a force between them, much stronger than either of them care to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I did switch the lyrics from this to chapter one because I realized after the fact that the songs worked better flip flopped yay look at how prepared I am
> 
> this one is mostly E/R centric again but I promise next chapter is going to be more of the others yay others
> 
> xx

_"Something always brings me back to you, it never takes too long. No matter what I say or do, I still feel you here, till the moment I'm gone."_

His phone feels like nothing but dead weight in his hand. He knows he's just being stubborn, cruel, even. When Enjolras' name ('wild antonius' now, as he switches it up every few weeks for the sake of shaking things up) flashed on the LCD screen of his beaten up iPhone, he knew exactly why it was ringing, and he hasn't even bothered to listen to the damn voicemail.

(the voicemail that almost wasn't a voicemail, in all honesty).

((Jehan works quickly. the minute he left Grantaire at the airport, he was on the phone with Enjolras. the conversation was brief, and only after Jehan _insisted_ that the plane was safely in the sky with Grantaire safely on it did he get to say what he meant to. One, show him you love him because he's having a hard time believing it. Two, he thinks he's the one who messed up- and I'm not saying that it's entirely your fault even though yes it really is- but he needs to hear that he's not doing a big thing badly by worrying about your health so much. Three, call him when he lands)).

(((Enjolras isn't good with this sort of thing, with being in such a volatile (but entirely wonderful) relationship. he's not green when it comes to dating, but there's never been anyone like Grantaire before. they work so well together, learn more about each other every day. unfortunately, most times, any little thing can set them off. the arguments aren't as bad as the used to be before the 'R-mageddon' as it has ever so fondly been named... but, as seen the other night, they can still blow up quickly. it's taken a lot of time to figure out how to circumnavigate this part of their relationship but they do know this to be one hundred percent fact. when they fight, after they've cooled down (for the most part, anyway) they have to _see_ each other. they have to look at one another and maybe yell some more before they can talk because the presence is what ends up calming them down in the end, the closeness reminds them of why they continue to do this thing that they're doing even though it may be hard. it's because of this fact that Enjolras almost doesn't call because he's got half a mind to just show up in San Francisco to apologize, until Combeferre reminds him that he's got a meeting with Lamarque in the morning, and that Grantaire will need to settle in. he hates it, because he knows that not seeing each other will mean that this fight won't really be settled, but he knows that Combeferre is right and gives in, calling after all))).

Grantaire sighs audibly, exhaling until it feels like there's absolutely no air left in his lungs (much stronger than they used to be now that he's quit smoking) and cards a hand through his mess of inky black curls. There's a familiar poetic voice nagging him from the recesses of his mind, making him resolve to call Enjolras back after the big orientation dinner/welcome party.

...Naturally he forgets to call. Forgets to even listen to the message until Wednesday, when Courfeyrac texts him.

  
 **honey lips:** _you're killing him, R._  
 **edgar allan bRo:** _?_  
 **edgar allan bRo:** _oh fuck_

He's dialing his voicemail and politely excusing himself from the others (his flatmates- a pair of grungy but gorgeous looking twins, the fraternal kind, and a man bearing a striking resemblance to Bahorel if Bahorel had a shock of turquoise hair instead of thick chocolatey brown locks) all at the same time.

The little quasi-stutter in Enjolras' voice at the start of the message is practically heartbreaking.

"H-hey," Grantaire can't tell if he's crying (that would really worry him) or just overtired and stifling a yawn, but it still makes his heart do this funny little skip thing all the same. "I hope your flight was comfortable, I know you hate planes and all- I just, I want... I need you to know that I love you, Grantaire. I was an asshole to you and I know it. I miss you already. I would tell you to come home, but- never mind. I love you. Call me when you can, so we can talk." The phone clicks and the message ends but Grantaire listens to it at least three more times.

By the time he does get around to calling, Enjolras picks up on the first ring. "I thought you'd forgotten about me," he says, and there is a strangely light edge to his voice that Grantaire is almost certain must be forced.

"You, baby," Grantaire asks, practically seeing the eye roll that the pet name will entice. "Never." He responds with an equal amount of forced sarcastic humor because he's not sure what else to do.

Silence envelops the line. They can hear each other breathing, slow and rhythmically, both willing the other to speak. Enjolras thankfully does.

"I feel like a prize idiot, Grantaire. I know you won't believe me and frankly you have no right to, but I am _so sorry_. I- God, I love you. I fucked up and I let you leave without telling you all of this in person and that is wrong. Can... Can I see you?"

Grantaire's heart actually stops and he speaks quickly without taking a breath because that last question means that he still wants to fix this and _wow_ he didn't even think anything needed to be fixed they have fights like this all the time and they always make up but it's always when the cynic grovels and begs for forgiveness without letting Enjolras say his piece, which, in retrospect probably isn't a healthy way to do anything- "You don't need to fly all the way out here to apologize, Enjolras." He stops himself from adding the "I've already forgiven you and I always will" that's hanging on his tongue.

The man on the other line laughs a little bit and it's funny (sad, really) how the sound alone makes Grantaire feel like he's falling in love all over again. "No, 'Ferre already stopped me from doing that once you'd actually left. I was thinking skype? You did bring your laptop along, right?"

Of course he had. But even if he hadn't, he'd find one.

"Give me one minute, okay? I'll call you."

Upon hanging up Grantaire does several things so fast that he's convinced himself he should win the Nobel Prize for the Science of Multitasking. (he runs to the bathroom and brushes his teeth (as if that even matters) with one hand and fixes his hair with the other (how could he possibly have gotten paint there?)). After checking (and rechecking, then checking again) his appearance in the mirror (for no good reason) he logs on, and hears the familiar swooshing sound that means he's online, clicking Enjolras' name as fast as he possibly can. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to see him (badly).

When the screen finally opens up and Grantaire _finally_ gets a good look at the boyfriend (he's still not used to that, even after all this time) that he's been missing so much, he doesn't know whether to be marginally upset or relieved. He looks good, a little tired, but certainly better than he did when he left. His hair is mussed, probably from fingers tugging through it while he worked as it's getting too late for him to be waking up from an afternoon nap (although that would imply that Enjolras ever napped). However there is a part of him wonders who was it that finally got him to relax and take care of himself.

Enjolras gives a little wave and effectively distracts him from his own thoughts. "Can you see me? Looks like you're frozen or something."

"Yeah," Grantaire replies casually, setting the computer down on a pillow in front of him. He folds his legs like a pretzel and waves back. "See? I can see you just fine."

The blond smiles, and it seems to make the screen brighter. "You already look tan. San Francisco treating you well?" Grantaire knows that he's just making small talk, but looks down at his forearms nonetheless. They do look darker, but he can't be sure if that's from the sun or the lighting in the flat. He gives a decidedly casual shrug and smiles lightly in return.

Grantaire is still not sure how this works- still isn't sure of what to say. He's already forgiven Enjolras, and wants to go back to normal. He figures it's best to start with that.

"I'm not mad, you know. I wasn't even mad when I left. I was just-" Hurt. Upset. Self conscious because everything you said was right and both of us know it and you wouldn't have said it if there was a part of you that didn't believe it, right? Grantaire makes an off handed gesture and shrugs again, not sure of how to vocalize what he's feeling.

The words, though unsaid, hang heavily in the air between them and Enjolras sighs, looking as though he wants to speak (even though he knows that he has no idea what to say, just like Grantaire has no idea what to say, and it doesn't feel right even though he's used to the (honestly nice) feeling of being utterly speechless around him).

Grantaire holds a hand up to indicate that he's not quite finished yet and swears he can see something akin to a smirk flick across Enjolras' features for a half a second.

"I love you too, you idiot. And I'll take all of it- the yelling and the screaming and crazy fights that make me question why I fell in love with you in the first place for the chance to hear you say that you love me too, every day, for as long as we can physically stand each other." There. That sounds right. It may be a rough patch but it's a patch, and for now, it'll have to do.

Enjolras blinks, and Grantaire leans back against the headboard with a satisfied grin, hands folded behind his head. "Right about now I imagine you should be saying three magic words."

Enjolras smirks.

"I love you."

"And again."

" _I love you_."

"One more time?"

"Don't push your luck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off thank you very much for the kudos and a special thanks to LariiTaylor for the kind words <3
> 
> I really didn't expect it to get more than 5 views and it has exceeded expectations already and I would hug all of you if I could 
> 
> as always, mistakes are my own 
> 
> song is Gravity by Sara Bareilles!
> 
> much love to all of you ah


End file.
